


The Warmth of You

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [112]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Affection, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Love, M/M, POV Loki (Marvel), Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25297615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Loki marvels over your softness and your warmth, and he takes in as much of it as he can.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [112]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 13
Kudos: 183





	The Warmth of You

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I’m not unaware of the fact that I wrote a story with a very similar title back in May. This wasn’t really written with the intention of being a partner to that story, but in that one and in this one, someone marvels over how the other one feels, so...maybe if this one doesn’t do it for you, check out [The Warmth of Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432901)?

From the moment that he first felt himself falling in love with you—a dear, dear mortal—he knew that he was in trouble. The whole ordeal was difficult: coming to terms with the fact that he _wanted_ to let someone like you in. He wanted to make himself this vulnerable. Attach himself to someone so fragile and fleeting. When he was younger, and when Thor had fallen for that scientist, this very situation had been so unthinkable to him. Mortals had been so crushingly _boring_ to him. And then you blundered into his life, and into his heart, and things began to change. As simple as Midgardians could be, and as predictable, he still knew enough to know that every day with you was going to bring some new discovery. He had adapted rather well, he thought, and rather quickly, but there was still one thing that he could not get over. 

Your skin.

Already he had lost hours on end distracted by the feel of you beneath his fingers. It should not have been surprising to feel your warmth, given what he knew of his own origins, but it surprised him nonetheless. Sometimes when he touched you, it was like there was a fire burning beneath your skin. You huddled under blankets at night—far more than he’d ever needed, himself—and, in the morning, if he awoke before you, he would run his hands along your skin and marvel at the heat that your body contained. If he did not warn you before touching you, sometimes the iciness of his fingers would make you flinch away and squeal, but, as long as you knew he was reaching out for you, you never cringed away. He soaked in so much of you. If you laid together in bed, or on the couch, lazily taking in the feeling of each other, sometimes your skin would warm his own. The first time he’d noticed that, he’d reached up to caress your cheek and treasured the way your eyes had fluttered closed.

“You’ve crept beneath my skin,” he had whispered that night, and he meant so much more than mere body heat.

You were unspeakably soft. Granted, you had the personality of a warrior. You could be frustratingly determined and intense when you needed to be—and often when you _didn’t_ need to be. Sometimes your stubbornness would make him hesitate and think back on all the times his mother had sighed at him about his own hardheadedness. You fought tooth and nail for justice, for safety, for the knowledge that your loved ones were protected, and it appeared that every single person was one of your loved ones. But at the end of the day, when you finally let yourself lean in to him for support, your skin was soft and smooth and rich. He would draw his fingertips along your arms, along your neck, slip his hand beneath your shirt to touch your belly, and though sometimes you giggled ticklishly, you only ever pressed closer to him.

That felt like the most precious treasure. 

That you sought him out. That you leaned into him and only ever asked for _more_ of his touch. He had spent so much of his life Before telling himself that he was nothing, that he was a monster, that he should have been locked away for the good of others. But you, you soft, warm miracle of a creature, you hungered for him in a way he’d never allowed himself to dream of.

And the hunger went both ways. Sometimes he wanted more of you than he could possibly get with just his fingertips. So he lowered his mouth to your skin, and sank his teeth into you just firmly enough to hold—never to hurt. And you let him. Although you both knew that he had the physical strength to tear you apart, you also knew that he never could. You would lie still beneath him, or sit quietly beside him, and do your best not to shiver when he laved your skin with open-mouthed kisses and tender nibbles. It was hard to fathom just how vulnerable you let yourself be in his arms. You trusted him. You trusted him to lay you open and devour you, but never to cause you harm. That was a heady realization, and he did his absolute best every single day to reward you for that trust.

Right now, here, in the early light of morning, he drank in the feel of you. You were still sleeping. The quiet, rough sounds of your almost-snoring made him smile. Sometimes he longed to throw this into Odin’s face. You were one of the only people he’d ever known who did not believe that he was a monster. If you did, certainly you would never sleep so soundly right beside him. He burrowed beneath all your extra blankets until he finally reached the sweetness of your skin there beneath it all. You sighed in your sleep when he rested his hand against your belly, and he paused, but you did not stir further. 

He leaned in to kiss the side of your neck, and then let himself linger there a little longer, just breathing you in. By now, he was intimately familiar with your shampoo and soaps and the perfume that you so carefully applied each morning, even though you had nowhere to go. But they couldn’t hide or cover up the warm, natural smell of your skin. Every last aspect of your existence seemed perfectly-crafted by the gods in order to pull him in. He was bewitched, utterly entranced, and he could not think of a single reason to try to get away.

He tightened his arm around your midsection to pull you closer, and did not bother to fight his smile when he heard you sigh. There was happiness in the sound. That seemed impossible, but he couldn’t deny it, either. You were happy to be near him. You were happy to have his hands on you. How could that possibly be the case, when you knew what he was? He drew your earlobe between his teeth and nibbled it gently. In moments like this, the only explanation he could come to was that you were _actually_ a miracle. How else would you have the courage—or the desire—to let him be this close to you? 

He felt you draw in a breath. “Loki...” Hearing you say his name was always kind of a shock to him, because you said it so gently. So sweetly. He hummed his response against your ear and then pressed a kiss to that lovely spot just behind your earlobe. Were you waking up? Sometimes you said his name in your sleep. He wanted to wrap you up inside him, hold you close, keep you safe. 

You reached up to touch his cheek with your sleep-warm fingertips. He smiled and pressed still closer to your hand. You were waking, then. Maybe his heart beat a little bit quicker at that, at the knowledge that soon he’d be able to look into your eyes. 

Slowly, you began to move. You were turning onto your other side, turning to face him. When you were finished, he reached to smooth your hair away from your face even as you continued to caress his face. These quiet moments in the early parts of the day, they sustained him. You slipped your leg between his and moved even closer to him. “You feel so good.” Your voice was sleepy, almost whiny, the way it was every morning, and he felt himself smile a little bit wider. Once you’d fully awakened, your voice would go back to normal, but, until then, he would treasure this side of you.

He let his hand rest heavily on the side of your head and caught your gaze with his own. “As do you, my love. As do you.”


End file.
